


Take Me To Church

by ChasetheSun2



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 50's AU, Blatant Homophobia, Casual Ableism, Humanstuck, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Religion, Scottish Amporas, Slow Burn, and everything that goes with it, fanatic religious overtones, latino vantases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheSun2/pseuds/ChasetheSun2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At night, the greaser boy dreams of worship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bedroom Hymns

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter of a story I've been trying to conceive for a long, looong time. 
> 
> Chapter's title comes from Florence+The Machines' song.

At night, the greaser boy dreams of worship. 

It's not what one would expect of him; a would-be gangster, caught up too young in his destructive habits. A smoker, a foulmouthed atheist and the bane of his military father's bloodline. 

But at night sweet hymns and soft, monotone words ring in his ears like church bells calling him. He kneels reverently in a cathedral both larger than he can ever perceive and smaller than he could possibly fit inside, heart pounding in his ears. The song wrings his heart, forces it to pound synchronous, roaring in his ears. Head raised, hands clasped and tied in position, he can't escape - doesn't want to. He prays fervently.

He worships not a god, but a man. 

The other looms over him, commanding and cold and so torturous, untouchable. Always looking down at him with that half-lidded expression, full, dark lips drawn in a tight line. Red and gold streams of light shone in like beacons from the stained-glass window, casting the monolith figure in front of him in shadow; highlighting the beautiful arch of his high cheekbones, the dark brown of his skin set in a reddish glow where the light kisses him oh, so gently. It matches the fire of his eyes and sets the brown irises to a blazing gold, focused on the knelt worshiper.

He's so close the boy can count every freckle, every thick, long lash. And yet he's so...celestial and so awe-some that the boy feared that if he gave into temptation and reached out, brushed his fingers along those soft, flushed cheeks, he would burn, sinful body lighting up like a phoenix, a knelt statue of ash and salt before the other.

Oh, he would gladly burn. 

Each night, he fell asleep and rose to worship. Each night, despite the soft, cold voice warning him against temptation, he gave in. And each night, he burned.

Each morning, he woke up with a pit in his chest and a hollow in his stomach. He knew the holy boy. And he knew that no matter how terrifyingly wondrous and untouchable the holy boy was in his dreams...in real life, he was so much more.

-

Cronus Ampora woke up like every morning, slick with sweat and with the last murmurs of a fervent, wordless prayer clinging to his lips. He panted softly, rubbing his face with his hands and trying to calm the racing of his heart. Tried to amount the gut-dropping sensation of immensity to nothing but early morning hunger pangs, but the vision of dark brown eyes behind thick, black lashes brushed against the inner walls of his mind and he felt once again as if he were standing tiny against a monument that threatened to fall and crush him.

Or burn him, whichever came first. 

With a groaning sigh he registered that his alarm clock was still blaring in his ear from his bedside table. He reached over a hand and shut it off, sitting up. A hand ran through his hair, still sticky with yesterday's grease and his nose wrinkled in disgust. Shower it was, then, before anything else.

Cronus' morning ritual was exceedingly simple; shower, clothes, cigarette, then out the door to his first classes - if he bothered to go to his first classes, that was. He usually didn't bother with breakfast, though he knew he should. He just couldn't be arsed to set his alarm any earlier than what he needed to clean himself off and rush out the door. The life of a normal college student, really, with enough on his plate that eating didn't really seem to be a priority.

Hot water cascaded down over his back and he groaned as he felt the knots in his back from the terrible dormitory cot ease away. Damn his college for finding the cheapest beds possible and passing his dorm off as 'high-quality'. 

High quality his ass, he'd slept on rocks that were softer than his bed. 

Cronus took a little longer than usual in the shower but as usual was out before the other boys even had a chance to slink in, looking as equally bed-headed and exhausted as he did. He wasn't really all that fond of showering with other people around. He wasn't really all that fond of dormitories in general, but it'd been his only choice. Realistically he would have wanted to find his own apartment, but Pops wouldn't shell out the money and he wasn't really up for getting a job that didn't suit his image. His boys were in the same position as him, so roommates weren't an option either. 

Towel wrapped around his waist, he headed back to his room. At least that was private, to the college's credit - no bunkmates. He dressed, styling his hair with a cigarette already burning between his lips. 

He was in a particularly perky mood this morning, humming some tune he'd heard on the radio just a few days ago. Normally he wouldn't be so eager to head to classes at nine o'clock on a Tuesday morning, but there was something peculiar about this day. Something he was excited for.

His shared classes with Kankri Vantas. The holy boy from his dreams.

Two years ago Cronus would have recoiled from the thought of indulging such latent homosexuality - that sorta thing just wasn't looked on well, after all, this wasn't New York - but since he'd come to college he'd learned to get over himself. After all, he still liked girls, he could still settle down with some broad someday. What was wrong in having a little fun? The sinning involved? Pssh. 

He didn't even believe in God, much less care what He thought.

Half an hour after he'd been awakened by his alarm, he was out the door, motorcycle roaring as he headed to the main college building for his classes. On the way, he saw a familiar red jacket, turtleneck poking up from underneath, and a mop of messy black hair.

He grinned, turning his bike slightly and slowing down to sidle beside the familiar boy.


	2. Like a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's title comes from Madonna.
> 
> NOTE: The term 'Chicano' is used in this story to denote a person of Latino descent. It has a different meaning now, but in 1947 (5 years before this story takes place) it was used to describe anyone who looked vaguely Hispanic or Latino. 
> 
> Due to the fact that I'm not particularly comfortable using heavier terms used back then for poc, I'm going to avoid anything that could possibly make anyone uncomfortable, including but not limited to the use of certain n-words despite how rampant it was back then. Disney's one to point out that erasing it is just as bad as pretending it doesn't exist, but there's a limit as to what I'm willing to do for historical accuracy.
> 
> Also to note: I'm doing heavy research on the era in which I'm writing this story, including racial tensions and slang, but I'm not an expert! if you see a mistake or want me to correct anything please please please tell me!

_Sunday_   
  
Soft hymns, slow and gentle, caressed the air of the church.   
  
It was sweltering; the heat of summer was upon them again. The dark-haired boy knelt at the pew, lips moving over the syllables of his prayers, dripping with reverence and sweat alike. A low, deep voice rumbled through the plain church, guiding them, the shepherd of their lost, insignificant souls.   
  
The boy's heart pounded, clenched in his chest. His breaths came shaky, his stance even shakier, hands clasped tightly to the old wooden rosary worn soft from years of use.   
  
He sang. His voice carried from the back of the church true and strong, rising on pious wings. He couldn't pray hard enough, couldn't sing loud enough, for the pounding in his chest. It rose like a tribal drumbeat into his ears, roaring _more, more, more!_   
  
He sang until his throat ached, until he couldn't but croak the words. And then, he fell into prayer.   
  
The statue of his Lord stood above him, watching him under His benevolent gaze. Blue light from the Holy Mother's stained-glass portrait spilled onto his face and cast the man on the crucifix in a holy, pure light of blue. The boy quivered under its forgiving expression.   
  
If only he could be forgiven as such.   
  
The man at the front of the church murmured low and soft; come, and be cleansed. Take of His blood and have peace.   
  
The boy stood, walked. Each step felt like he was climbing a mountain. Finally, he knelt before the man, whispered his soft communion, and received in return. Father, here, meant more than just the leader of the church.   
  
The taste of heady wine stained his lips, thick and sweet like the heat that filled the room. The texture of hard bread clung to the roof of his mouth as he stood and bowed. He walked back to his pew and knelt once more to raise his voice in song and prayer.   
  
He felt cleansed.  
  
-  
  
 _Tuesday_  
  
Kankri Vantas woke to silence, as usual.  
  
The only sound in the entire house was the ringing of his alarm clock; deafening, almost frightening in the way it shattered the quiet of the empty home. Time for yet another day of classes.  
  
The sun had just barely begun to rise as Kankri stretched, pulling himself off the couch to go tend to his alarm. Why he set it so far away instead of just bringing it down to the living room was still beyond him. Then again, he thought to himself, all he needed was for his father to come home one day and find he'd slept on the couch instead of his own proper bed.  
  
"I'm coming," He grumbled, running a hand through thick black hair. He'd showered the night before - who had the time to shower in the mornings? - so the wavy strands were soft under his fingers.   
  
Up a flight of stairs and into his bedroom he went, taking the time to shut off his alarm before pushing open his closet door. It wasn't as warm as it'd been on Sunday, after the snow squall that'd canceled classes the day before. A plain black turtleneck and dresspants, then, and his usual red jacket. Porrim had made him that jacket, if she saw him without it on such a chilly day she'd have a conniption and a half.  
  
Now dressed and his hair in some semblance of order, Kankri poked his head into his little brother's room and frowned. Yet again, the youngest Vantas had stayed the night at his friend's house. If Father were home Karkat wouldn't hear the end of it. But then again, Kankri had noticed the only time Karkat slept over at Sollux's was when his preacher father wasn't home.  
  
Kankri didn't blame him, really. It was too quiet in the house without Father there, worse without Karkat.  
  
At least there was no need to cook breakfast, without anyone there. Kankri took the easy way out, putting down some toast and making a simple cup of coffee for himself as a lame excuse for morning nutrition. It didn't really count for much, and certainly wouldn't fill out Kankri's rather thin waistline, but it would at least stop him from being distracted from something as silly as hunger pangs while in class.

He'd just finished washing up the mug and knife he'd used when he heard a knock at the door. Two raps, then one, then another two - Porrim. She had a very distinguishable knock.   
  
Grabbing his jacket, Kankri headed for the door. There stood Porrim, dressed to the nines as always, waiting for him with a frown set on her ruby-red lips.  
  
"Oh, good, you remembered your jacket," She said, sounding pleased despite the serious case of poker face she always seemed to have.  
  
Kankri nodded, grabbing his keys and his books and locking the door behind him. A chill wind kissed his skin and he shivered, wrapping his jacket tighter around him. "No, Porrim, I'm going to walk in this freezing weather for the next twenty minutes, wearing only a sweater."  
  
His accented voice was tinged with sarcasm. She raised a perfectly manicured brow at him. She was pretty, Kankri supposed, to other people. She certainly wasn't his type, and seeing as he saw her more as a sister than as someone of actual romantic interest, she never would be his type either. He scowled back. Kankri Vantas had never been a morning person.

The walk passed in relative silence, save for Porrim's mothering about his homework, his hair -  _It's so messy - but I combed it, Porrim, just--hey, hands off! -_ anything she could fuss over. Sometimes he wondered if she took advantage of his lack of a mother just to tend to him like a child. It was infantilizing and he couldn't help but feel a little fed up with it. But, she was his only friend, really. 

Not many Chicano like him had many friends, and certainly not white friends like Porrim.  
  
Porrim had grown up with Kankri, her adoptive mother having been friends with Kankri's mother at some point. Their story there wasn't quite clear, but Kankri had never delved and probably never would. He was just grateful to have pleasant company on the walks to and from college.

Well, pleasant enough company, as it were.  
  
Speaking of company, however, the roar of a motorcycle made a frisson go up Kankri's spine. Porrim groaned, knowing exactly who it was that was coming up behind them.  
  
"Hello, Cronus," Porrim said stiffly, before the greaser could even say a thing. Kankri said nothing, staring resolutely ahead.


	3. Undisclosed Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cronus and Kankri share a common secret and Porrim is clueless.

Cronus didn't even manage to get a single word out before the tall, dark-haired beauty standing beside Kankri spoke up in a disdainful tone. He idled his bike, ambling along beside them with his classic grin pulling at his lips.

“Aw, darlin, why so cold?” He drawled, thick Scottish accent dripping on every syllable. Beside Porrim, Kankri shifted, his hand reaching up to the front of his shirt. Cronus raised an eyebrow at him but didn't point it out. “Only wanted to say good mornin', that's all.”

Porrim let out a derisive snort. “Yes, of course. You could have said good morning from the road, and yet, you've taken up much more of the two seconds of our time it would have taken to wave.”

“Ouch. Kitten's got claws, huh? Stings, Maryam. Only wanted to be sociable.” Cronus took one hand off the handlebars, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it up. Porrim cast him a disgusted look and Kankri wrinkled his nose.

Cronus looked the boy over subtly. He was a gorgeous thing, really. Tall and slim in build, where Cronus was shorter and rather stocky, lean with muscle built from summers of helping out in the garage in his hometown. Kankri's hair was messy and thick, a dark black that shone almot reddish in the early morning sun. His full lips were almost always in a permanent frown, eyes burning dark coal - gold when the light struck them right. 

Cronus loved seeing his eyes alight like that.

“And what about you, Kanny?” He asked, and the taller boy's eyes narrowed at the nickname. “Porrim seems to've woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but how you doin' on this fine mornin'?”

There was a moment of silence and Kankri gripped at his shirt, glaring at Cronus. Finally, he spoke. “Fine, thank you.” He said stiffly, and that was that. 

Cronus raised a brow. He knew Kankri to be very outspoken about a lot of things, but he never seemed to speak to Cronus, and if he did, it was either in short, clipped words or a lecture about something he'd said wrong. 

“Fine, fine, I see I'm interruptin' an intimate moment or somethin',” He said, trying his best to sound wounded as he revved his bike. “Alright, I'll leave you be – at least until I see ya in class later, Kanny.”

With a wide grin and sparkling blue eyes, the greaser rode off, leaving Porrim and Kankri in the dust. 

Kankri groaned and put his face in his hands. He'd completely forgotten that the majority of his classes were shared with Cronus today. He truly, deeply loathed Tuesdays for this reason. 

Porrim in the meantime, watched Cronus leave with a derisive look in her eyes. Upon hearing the groan from her friend, though, she reached over, patting his shoulder gently. Kankri flinched away – he hated being touched. She frowned at him.

“I pity you, sometimes,” She murmured. “Having to deal with him in your classes. It takes a stronger moral fibre than I have to deal with him.”

“You have no idea,” Kankri grumbled. “I'm absolutely certain that boy is some kind of demon sent to torment me.”

At this, Porrim laughed softly. She knew Kankri was religious, his whole family was, or at least, seemed to be, but perhaps he was being a bit over the top in his description. “Don't you think that's a little ridiculous?” She asked. “I mean. Yes, he's just an overall terrible human being but I sincerely doubt he crawled out of Hell to make your life miserable.”

Kankri gave her an indignant look. “First of all, don't say that word so loosely! And second, you know I was being metaphorical. You don't see how he behaves in class – it's absolutely abhorrent.”

“Well you're not wrong there.” Porrim nodded. “But seriously, what's the worst he can do to you besides annoy and distract you? All he ever does is flirt with girls and make cheap passes.”

“I repeat; You have no idea.” She really didn't – Kankri always tried to sit away from him, and somehow, Cronus always managed to find a way to sit beside him. It wasn't even that he was flirting with the girls around Kankri, no – he flirted with Kankri himself. 

The thought made Kankri shudder. He didn't deserve to be tempted by someone like Cronus. He said his prayers, went to church twice a week - he even never missed a day in classes and got all his homework done, on time! He taught Sunday school! He was a good, Christian boy from a good, Christian family. A pillar of the community, as his father - bless him - said. The pride of his father's two sons. 

Yet with Cronus strutting around, he felt as if God were punishing him with some...affliction. He would never, ever tell Porrim, because that would only confirm what he was trying so, so hard to deny and pray wasn't true.

Kankri Vantas – good, respectable, chaste Kankri Vantas – was attracted to men. Or, at the very least, one man.

It was all Cronus' fault! Walking into class like he owned the place, with broad shoulders and a broader grin, cocky as all get-out and a smart mouth to boot. A bad egg, his father said, and Kankri agreed wholeheartedly. Still, that didn't stop his mind from betraying him and wandering.... 

He tried to make it stop, he really did. He prayed and begged the Lord to take away this affliction. He shouldn't be attracted to anyone, not at his age. He was only nineteen, he had classes and an education and his betterment to think about! But especially another male...Bless his soul if anyone - if his father - found out. 

Just the thought made him shiver, gripping solidly at the front of his shirt. 

Porrim looked at him, frowning. She knew he had that habit, she didn't really understand it, but it usually meant he didn't really want to continue their conversation. She sighed softly.

Their walk continued in silence.


	4. Jesus Christ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Class begins and Kankri has a slip of the tongue.  
> Chapter name from Brand New's "Jesus Christ".

Kankri sat himself down in his normal seat. If it were any other day than today, he would look forward to this class. He loathed it today, however, and the reason why slid into the seat next to him with an oily sort of grin on his face.

“Hey, Sugar,” Cronus all but purred, relaxing back into his chair. As usual, he carried no bag, had no pencils or paper. Kankri noted his lack of preparedness with a distasteful look on his face. “Long time no see. Been about a week or somethin' like that, huh? Miss me?”

“Like a toothache.” Kankri mumbled bitterly.

Cronus' eyebrows raised so high they almost vanished into his greased-back hair. “Ouch.” He said, dragging out the word in a low, mock pained hiss. “You been learnin' insults from Porrim, huh?”

Kankri rolled his eyes. He would have retorted, but the doors to the lecture hall banged open and everyone's heads swivelled to see the professor walking in. That is, everyone's except Cronus. Unlike the greaser, however, Kankri actually enjoyed paying attention to his lectures, always hungry for knowledge. He plucked a well-loved notebook from his backpack, flipping through page upon page of tightly jammed notes in tiny scrawl until he found a clean page. As the lecture began, he scribbled every word furiously onto the paper.

Cronus, on the other hand, was fidgeting in his seat. He'd never been good at paying attention, too restless and annoyed. He hated this class – hated all his classes, really, and especially hated that he'd been forced into coming here day after day. The only reason he'd come here at all today was to spend time next to the preacher's boy. 

He snuck a look at the other here and there, admiring him subtly so no one else noticed – so Kankri didn't notice. He couldn't help but stare, the boy was so beautiful – from the sunkissed brown tone of his skin, his dark freckles, the unruly, wavy black hair. Even the way that he wrinkled his nose when he was stuck on processing the professor's words made Cronus' chest tighten. 

Not that he could ever show it, of course.

Cronus almost got himself caught looking at the other as Kankri looked up, suddenly and sharply on their break an hour into the lesson. Cronus hadn't even realised an hour had passed, he was so caught up in his daydreaming. When he tuned back into the real world, he realised Kankri had sais something to him, motioning to his desk. He blinked.

“Huh—what?” He said, and Kankri rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed at having to repeat himself.

“You know, perhaps if you paid attention to class you would have a more scintillating response other than 'huh, what'.” Kankri said dully, and for a moment Cronus fumed before he spoke again. “I asked, do you even have any writing materials here?”

Cronus looked down at his desk. He hadn't thought of bringing his things in his excitement to see Kankri today. “Er...” He mumbled.

“Nevermind,” Kankri cut him off, shaking his head in dismay. “Here. I'll take pity on you this once, but I assure you, if you don't think to bring your own materials from now on, I won't be helping you. I'm only doing it because your lack of attention and fidgeting during the class are distracting.”  
A sheaf of paper and a pen suddenly introduced themselves to Cronus' line of sight, Kankri holding them out to him. He took them, confused. “What – you're helpin' me?” 

“Don't take it too far out of context, Cronus, I'd simply prefer it if you made yourself useful instead of staring at me with a thousand yard stare.” Kankri said, his tone dismissive and cold. Cronus raised a brow but nonetheless mumbled a quiet thanks.

Unfortunately for him, the interaction took up most of his break time. No chance to get a smoke, it seemed, because just as he was about to, the prof walked right back in from his own smoke break. Cronus groaned and slumped back in his chair – and didn't catch the satisfied little smirk on Kankri's face. 

Good, no more disgusting smoke smell, at least for this class.

As the lecture began again there was a blessed lack of fidgeting from Kankri's left as Cronus tried to focus on the lesson. It eventually proved useless, however; less than ten minutes later Cronus was pushing the paper away with an annoyed huff. The professor spoke far too fast, he decided, and the lessons on the board were so far away that he couldn't see them properly to copy down anyway. The truth of the matter, and one that he wasn't really willing to admit, was that he just didn't have the ability to force himself to concentrate like Kankri could. 

So, instead of doing that, he looked over Kankri's shoulder. What he saw made him whistle quietly – and that whistle made Kankri jump and turn his head to glare at Cronus.

“What?” He hissed, as quietly as he could. 

Cronus chuckled softly and nodded his head to Kankri's paper. Kankri's handwriting was nothing even close to neat; when he scribbled notes he wrote as fast as he could in shorthand to save time. His words my as well have been chicken scratch for as much sense as they made to Cronus – who, admittedly, wasn't the best at reading anyway.

“Interestin' notes you got there,” He whispered so the prof couldn't hear. “Can you even read those?”

“Of course I can!” Kankri hissed, ferociously guarding his notebook with a scowl. “At least I take notes, unlike you. Can you even write or are you just sitting in a desk for show?”

Kankri knew he'd hit a soft spot when Cronus' eyes narrowed. He cringed back slightly, a guilty look on his face as Cronus' own expression grew more set, jaw taut, cheeks flushed in angry embarrassment. Underneath it, though, was a hurt look to his eyes that made Kankri's stomach drop unpleasantly. 

Before he could apologize for his rude words, however, Cronus pushed himself out of his desk. “Whatever.” He muttered bitterly. “Didn't even like this fuckin' class anyway.”

Something told Kankri he should follow, but his body remained heavily in his seat. He swallowed, watching the other leave and lowering his head as he felt the questioning eyes of the other students looking back at him, wondering what had happened. Kankri couldn't answer that question. It was such a sudden shift; even he didn't know. 

The professor took a moment to stare at the slamming door and Cronus' retreating back in confusion, then cleared his throat, resuming where he'd left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one! It took forever, I know. I have a decent plot for the chapters now, however, so there should be more frequent updates.
> 
> Thanks for waiting on me! <3


	5. Spare the Rod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kankri still can't control his mouth, Mituna doesn't quite understand the meaning of the words 'harmless teasing' and nobody is innocent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some instances of SERIOUSLY ableist/homophobic language.

Cronus stormed out of the lecture hall, scowling.

“ ‘Can you even read?'” He mocked bitterly, plucking a cig from his pack and lighting it up as he left the building. He leaned up against his usual smoking grounds, a shed in the back of the school where most of the other smokers hung out. “…Fuck off. Course I can read. ’S not my fault the class is fuckin boring…"

For quite a while Cronus stayed like that, mumbling to himself and wondering why everyone seemed to question his intelligence as he burned through half his pack of cigarettes. He hadn’t realised until his fingers brushed empty air when he went to reach for yet another one that he’d almost run out.

With a curse, Cronus looked up at the grand clock in front of the campus. Half an hour had gone by already; not only was his class almost over, but it was almost time for him to head home anyway. Classes were cancelled this afternoon for some meeting or another, thankfully, so he didn’t have to bother pretending like he actually cared about going.

Cronus stayed there and ruminated until he was sure that he’d sufficiently stewed and was calm enough to be able to confront others without decking them. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off the wall of the shed and headed back towards the parking lot where he’d left his bike.

…Only to freeze, a moment later. There was someone in his normal spot.

Even on a good day Cronus wasn’t one to tolerate people looming over his baby, his territory. Everyone knew he parked there, at the very edge of the parking lot, so he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone else’s cars scraping up the motorcycle he’d worked to build from the ground up. Getting closer, he recognized the person right away and groaned.

“Tune, what the fuck are you doin over by my bike?”

At the edge of the school parking lot, right by his precious baby, was a lanky figure with a full head of bright ginger curls. Underneath those curls, Cronus knew, was a myriad of scars and bicolored eyes nearly completely covered by cataracts. The tall figure wore a pure black sweater and a yellow dress-shirt underneath, likely picked out by his girlfriend.

A girlfriend, Cronus noted, that didn’t seem to be hanging off his arm and acting as seeing-eye-dog like she usually was. How odd. It was a genuine surprise to see Mituna alone for once, he was usually flanked by Kurloz and Latula alike.

Mituna jumped at the words and whirled, squinting underneath all that hair to try and see who’d spoken to him. It didn’t help that he was mostly blind. Nevertheless, when he spotted Cronus and recognized him, he gave a wide, toothy grin and patted the seat of the bike.

“Oh, it’s yours?” Mituna taunted him, running a hand along the hot leather. He knew full well it was Cronus’. Cronus took a breath. Nothing to get pissed over, a bad day doesn’t have to get worse. Relax, Ampora.

“Yes, it’s mine.” He said, making an obvious effort to keep calm. “What were you doing over here feelin’ her up, huh?”

Mituna’s smirk only grew wider. “Her?” He cackled. “The bike is a her? Is it your giiiiiirlfriend, huh? You – you jealous?”

It took everything in Cronus’ power to try and stop himself pinching the bridge of his nose and just telling Mituna to fuck off. “Cut the shit, Tune. Quit marchin’ over here every other day to scope out my bike. Get your own, not like you can drive it.”

Mituna scowled at him. Cronus wouldn’t normally be so callous, especially not with Mituna since they’d once been good friends. He’d normally just tell Mituna to get lost. Kankri’s words had him spitting venom, however. No matter how unintentional the dig at him had been, what Kankri had said still hit a little too close to home for Cronus. This callousness didn’t bode well for him. Mituna’s cheeks grew red with embarrassment and anger and just from his expression alone Cronus knew he wasn’t getting away with making a dig at Mituna. Just as Kankri had hit a nerve, so had Cronus.

“I’m not a thief, don’t sugg-don’t – don’t HINT,” Mituna stammered, getting frustrated with himself when he couldn’t remember the word. He spoke a little louder than intended, but it satisfied him to see Cronus flinch when he yelled. “I’m not stupid. I know what you were hinting. Not that I’d wanna steal your stupid, ffffucking – PIECE OF SHIT anyway. Probably fucked it, or something…..gross.”

Cronus took another breath and grit his teeth. On any other day Cronus would have just mocked him and sent him on his way but he was just too done with today to rein in his temper. He counted back from ten like his mother had taught him.

“Sure, whatever. Just fuck off already, will you?” He said, clearly trying to keep himself in check. Two overreactions in one day was not necessary. “I got better things to do than stand around and shoot the shit.”

Mituna scoffed at him, clearly not done tormenting him as payback for the dig. “Yeah, right,” He said, his tone impish. “Like what. Run home to Daddy? Go stare at Kanny some more like a lovesick homo?”

Cronus’ eyes went wide and a tic went off in his jaw. He averted his eyes and said nothing, fists clenching. Mituna snickered, catching the scent of blood in the water.

“Yeah. I see you. I see you. Staring at him. Preacher’s boy. No one else sees it, but I do. Not as blind as you think, huh?” Mituna leaned in close to him, a sharklike grin on his face now. Cronus scowled but despite himself, leaned away from Mituna.

“I ain’t starin’ at anyone.” Cronus snapped, a little too quickly, and he knew it. Mituna cackled, leaning on Cronus’ motorcycle, and despite trying to keep himself calm it was all Cronus could do to stop himself from pouncing on the other and giving him another scar to add to his collection.

“I knew it!” Mituna howled gleefully. “I knew it! You’re a homo. A fuck – a fucking – a fa–”

Cronus lunged.

Mituna managed to narrowly dodge him, eyes wide under his bangs. It was clear Cronus hadn’t expected him to, as his momentum made him topple and forced him to lean on his bike for balance. It teetered; Mituna’s weight was the only thing keeping it from falling opposite Cronus’ hands.

The two looked at one another; Cronus in horror and panic, and Mituna in utter, devilish glee. “Don’t you dare,” Cronus hissed, immediately working to pull the bike back.

Too late. Mituna’s grin widened and he let go, stepping away. The bike toppled; Cronus let out a hoarse yell as he tried in vain to catch it from falling, but to no avail. With an ugly clang of metal against pavement it crashed against the ground. Cronus looked up at Mituna with a snarl on his face, whirling on Mituna and grabbing the cackling boy by the collar of his vest.

“Why you–”

“Cronus, stop!” The new voice added to the mix made Cronus freeze. Mituna, sensing an opening, decked Cronus. The taller of the two yelped in pain and let Mituna go, staggering back. He was just recovering and raising a fist to return the blow when a flash of red stepped between them.

It was Kankri, and he was scowling.

“How dare you!” Kankri said, voice shrill. “I understand if I upset you earlier but that’s no reason to pick on Mituna! He’s completely helpless!” Cronus dropped his fist and Mituna dropped his guard, both of them giving Kankri an incredulous look.

“He’s helpless?” Cronus scoffed. “He just sucker-punched me right in the goddamn jaw!”

“Language!” Kankri hissed angrily. “And that doesn’t give you a right to hit him back! Cronus, he’s a _retard_ , he can’t help his impulses–”

“HEY!” Mituna interjected. 

Kankri continued nevertheless. “–you don’t just hit people who—OW!”

The moment that Kankri had spoken out of turn – and over Mituna, no less – the redhead’s expression darkened considerably. Cronus winced; he knew what was coming. Mituna wound a fist back, getting Kankri with the same uppercut he’d given Cronus.

“Don’t FUCKING call me that!” Mituna yelled angrily.

Before Kankri could do anything to defend himself, Mituna had a fist raised to him again, clocking Kankri with a hard cross straight to the jaw. Kankri didn’t take the hit near as elegantly as Cronus had. He stumbled back as his balance was broken. His eyes squeezed shut tight, both in pain and bracing himself for a fall. When it never came, he looked up and his eyes went wide.

“Are you alright?” Cronus asked. Before Kankri could fall to the ground, Cronus had reached out, catching him with a concerned look on his face. The preacher’s boy scrambled out of Cronus’ grip. Amid victorious cackling and crowing from Mituna about Cronus saving his 'boyfriend’, Kankri flushed angrily, fixing his clothes and dusting himself off. He utterly regretted trying to pick up for Mituna as he hissed at Cronus not to touch him, stalking off like a wounded dog, tail between his legs.

“Aw, cmon, Kanny!” Mituna howled. “It was just a little poke, no harm done! It’s what you get for calling me a retard, anyway! Cmon, come back! Kiss Cro and make up, huh—oof!”

Cronus hated to admit it, but punching Mituna had felt good. He shook out his hand, picking his bike carefully back up and straddling it. She roared to life; nothing seemed out of place, no scratches on her paint he’d so carefully applied. Cronus nodded to himself in approval before turning to look at Mituna, who was still holding his gut and groaning.

“Tune, for once, do yourself a favor and learn when to shut up.” He said, gunning the engine and pulling out of the parking lot.


	6. Family Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the rest of the Ampora family.

Kankri’s eyes stung. He walked quickly off the campus grounds, ignoring everything around him and rubbing harshly at his eyes. Men don’t cry, especially not after being hit. It wasn’t right. Cronus had done the right thing, he’d hit back, he’d – oh, but he didn’t want to think about Cronus now, and he felt a special sort of venom when he found himself comparing himself to a sinner like Cronus–

He was so upset by the events of the last twenty minutes that he didn’t notice the time flying by; his feet took him on his normal route of their own volition while his head was off in the clouds. Nor did he notice the voice calling out to him, or the motorcycle roaring its way towards him. He didn’t even register anything outside of himself until the bike was idling beside him and there was a hand waving in his face.

“Hello in there, space case. You awake, or you just sleepwalkin?” Cronus pulled his hand away as soon as Kankri’s head whipped up. A concerned frown pulled at his lips. “Hey, you okay?”

“Fine.” Kankri said. His voice was like ice; he most certainly was not okay. The right side of his face was blossoming into a dark bruise from the two hits Mituna had given him, an ugly purple colour staining the freckled brown.

As he felt Cronus’ eyes sweeping over him he walked a little quicker, glad that he’d at least managed to avoid crying.

“You sure?” Cronus asked. His frown only deepened and for a moment Kankri thought he’d seen the other’s hand twitch off of the handlebars – but no, when he looked again it was still there. “You don’t look alright.”

“Well I am.” Kankri snapped. He had to keep a tight hold on his voice for fear that it broke.

Cronus flinched. “Alright, alright,” He said, placating. He’d put his hands up in surrender if it didn’t mean losing his grip on the bike. “I get it, tryin’ to be the big tough guy. Suit yourself, sugar, I was only tryin’ to be nice.”

He gunned the motor. Kankri looked up in confusion at how quickly Cronus had backed off the subject. As he did, he caught an actual glimpse of the other for the first time since he’d interrupted his thoughts. Cronus had an identical mark on his jaw to the one on Kankri’s. Mituna, it seemed, had one hell of a left hook.

As Cronus drove off he felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t had the chance to apologize. He brushed his fingers along the newly formed bruise on his own face, feeling the heat and swell of the injury. He touched a particularly sore spot and hissed in pain – no, better not to investigate that until he had a proper mirror and didn’t need to poke and prod. He took his hand away from his face before he could hurt himself more.

This was all Cronus’ fault, he reasoned, as if to assuage his own guilt at his rudeness. If Cronus hadn’t picked a fight with Mituna, Kankri would never have had to step in and they all would have went on their merry way, bruise-free. Yes, Cronus was to blame for all of this. None of this was Kankri’s fault, no. He had only been trying to do the right thing.

His ego soothed for the moment, Kankri began to walk home again, this time thankfully without an annoying biker at his side.

* * *

 

“That’s a start of a shiner, if I ever saw one.”

Cronus jumped at the sound of the hoarse, rugged voice that echoed from the kitchen. Once he registered who it was Cronus became acutely and uncomfortably aware of his surroundings; the creak of the floorboards underneath him, the warmth of the house in comparison to the chilly air outside, the smell of whatever Eridan had made for lunch. 

The soft tinkling of metal and ice against glass. 

Cronus’ hand clenched around Kankri’s notebook.  _You aren't supposed to be home yet,_ He thought to himself, but didn't dare say. “Er–yeah,” He said instead, standing stock-still in the doorway to the kitchen He knew he should have taken the back door. “The Captor kid picked a fight with me again, no big deal. Just some schoolyard scrap.”

Ares Ampora stood at the kitchen counter. His back was turned away from Cronus for a moment as he tossed the spoon he’d been using into the sink. He was quiet, contemplative as he took a sip, turning to look at his son. Ares was a tall man; the Amporas were predisposed to height, it seemed, as well as broadness. Cronus had inherited his father’s broad shoulders and pale blue eyes, but the elder Ampora’s held none of Cronus’ warmth or mirth. His eyes were chips of ice, cold and piercing. 

Cronus didn’t move, avoiding looking his father in the eyes. 

“You forgot your backpack the last time you snuck in here.” He said, and Cronus had to refrain from swearing. He’d hoped Ares wouldn’t notice.

“Yeah, I uh…I was helpin’ Eri with some homework yesterday–”

“Cut the bullshit.” Ares’ sharp voice sent ice flooding through his veins. “You left it here so you could have an excuse to skip class, didn’t you? Sorry, teach, can’t work today, my shit’s not here.”

“That’s not it–” Cronus mumbled, but Ares cut him off, not listening.

“ _And,_  you can quit draggin’ my son into your lies. He told me you weren’t here last night.”

Shit. Cronus’ shoulders slumped; the one time Ares believed Eridan’s cover for him, and it only got him into more trouble. He sighed, backing off. There was no good in trying to get Ares to listen to him, he knew. Ares had convinced himself he was right and there was no talking him out of it.

“Sorry, dad. Yeah, I left it here. But I did go to class, see? Even got notes and everythin. It was just a mistake, honest.” 

Never had he been more grateful that Kankri was a nosy little busybody than when he held up the notebook with his handwriting scrawled all over it. Ares squinted; Cronus was certain that he couldn’t see straight from that far away, not with a drink in his hand. Cronus hoped it was the first.

Finally Ares waved a hand dismissively at him, scowling. “Go get your damn bag.” He grunted. Cronus felt the tension melt from his frame as he all but vanished from the doorway and up the stairs. He paused at Eridan’s room, knocking gently at the closed door.

“Eri? You in there?”

“C’min.” A quiet voice answered.

Cronus opened the door, making sure it didn’t creak. Eridan was sat down at his desk, fumbling with something Cronus couldn’t see. The whole room smelled like parchment and paint, as usual. Cronus spotted his backpack on the floor next to Eridan’s desk and he walked in, closing the door behind him.

“You’re not s’posed to be home from lunch for another half hour,” Cronus said pointedly.

“And you’re not supposed to be outta class for another three hours.” Eridan said back in the same tone, not looking up from his work. Unlike Cronus, Eridan had gotten the full brunt of their Scottish heritage; curly brown hair, pale eyes and skin, covered head-to-toe in freckles and speaking with a thick brogue inherited from their father. He was slighter than the other two Amporas, however, with small shoulders and elegantly sloping cheekbones. Cronus often teased him that he was made of softer stuff than they were.

Not today, however.

“Had some kinda teachers’ conference,” Cronus explained. Eridan’s noise of assent said that he had the same excuse. “How’d your test go?”

Eridan paused for a moment. “I got an A,” He said simply, then sat up from where he’d been hunched over the thing on his desk. It turned out to be the model ship Cronus had gotten him for his birthday. “Thanks for that.”

“Welcome.” Cronus said, a hint of relief hidden under the pride in his voice. “See, I knew you could–”

He caught a glimpse of Eridan’s expression and shut up, closing his mouth with an audible click. Eridan was scowling at him darkly, jaw set. Cronus’ shoulders slumped and he sighed, worry creeping onto his face.

“I know.” He mumbled. “I’m sorry, kiddo. Did you get in shit, are you alright?”

Eridan shook his head. “I’m fine. Just don’t leave your shit here anymore, alright? Kinda hard to cover for you when you keep leavin evidence behind.” He picked up the backpack and tossed it at Cronus, who caught it easily. Satisfied he hadn't broken his brother's nose with the heavy books inside, Eridan picked up the toy ship and his paintbrush again, tinkering with it and adding another layer of vibrant violet to the sails. Cronus was fairly certain sails weren’t supposed to be violet, but he didn’t say anything about it. “He’s convinced I’m helpin’ you fail.”

Cronus rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I kinda got that from the chat he had with me downstairs.” He said, sighing. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I won’t forget anymore, okay?”

For a moment Eridan looked pained, his hand tense on the paintbrush. Cronus knew what he was going to say before he even said it. His chest ached, brow furrowed.

“…Or, I could just hold off on the study sessions til he stops bein suspicious.” He murmured quietly. Eridan nodded.

“Please do that.”

Cronus swallowed and looked down at his hands. Several moments passed where Cronus tried to find something to say and found himself tongue-tied. Eridan squirmed in the silence. 

“He’s already drinkin, isn’t he?” He asked. Cronus nodded. “…You should go.”

Cronus tried and failed to hide the disappointment and guilt on his face as he got up, shouldering his backpack. “Window or back door?” He asked, but they both knew he was asking a different question entirely.

“Window.” Eridan replied. “You weren’t here.”

Cronus grit his teeth. So that's how it was today. He hugged Eridan tightly before heading over to the bedroom window and opening it. The lattice that decorated the back of the house was placed perfectly so he could climb down out of Eridan’s window and down onto the back patio, out of sight of the living room where Ares was no doubt relaxing. 

He swung one leg out over, then paused, murmuring a hushed goodbye. Eridan murmured it back, and Cronus slid his way down the lattice as quietly as possible. 

From up above he heard the window slide back into place with a click.

Climbing down the lattice was the easy part; silently guiding his bike out of the driveway and down the street was much harder. He had to make sure that he made no noise so Ares didn’t notice him from the living room window, constantly looking behind him to make sure that his father wasn’t looking out. The thing was heavy and hard to maneuver, using every ounce of his strength to keep the thing upright and moving forward all at once, silently marching down the street. 

He was covered in sweat despite the cold spring day when he finally managed to get out of sight and sound of the house. Panting quietly, he hopped onto his beast and started the motor, heading back towards his dorm with his backpack over his shoulder.

Cronus’ stomach started growling when he spotted a fast food joint halfway between the Ampora household and home. He was suddenly grateful he’d thought to check up on Eridan and grab his backpack as he pulled into the parking lot. He’d left his wallet in his backpack as always, and he was starving after skipping breakfast. 

The smell of fries and sizzling meat made his stomach growl even louder. He grinned to himself and ordered himself the largest meal he could safely afford, sitting to one of the outside tables and relaxing.

Okay, so maybe the day hadn’t started out that great, but Eridan got himself an A and he was about to have himself a decent feast. Plus, Kanny actually talked to him - even helped him, in some kind of roundabout way.

Maybe it wasn’t all bad.

 


	7. Empty, alone and unwanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kankri hates the silence of the house.

 

Kankri's house was as still as the grave when he walked through the door. The only sounds he could hear were the hum of the refrigerator and the slow tick of the clock. His own footsteps and the door closing interrupted the silence if only for a moment.

"I'm home," Kankri called. When no one answered back he sighed, setting down his bag and kicking off his shoes, heading into the kitchen. Of course no one answered, it was only Tuesday after all. He still had a full three days before he spotted hide or hair of any of the other members of the household. It was only habit and hope that had led him to call out in the first place.

The kitchen was bright and warm, as always, hardly anything disturbed. The pale yellow of the walls reflected the sunlight streaming in through dainty white lace curtains. The only hints that anyone had even bothered to touch this place, that it was lived-in at all, were the photos and magnets on the fridge and the single plate and knife sitting by the sink.

So, Karkat had been home then.

Kankri looked around for any other sign that his brother had been here and found a note on the fridge. He plucked it from under an American flag magnet and began to read.

 _Kanny,_ It read in Karkat's usual massive script, and Kankri scowled. _You were home late so I made you a sandwich. You're welcome. Also, I'm staying at Sollux's again tonight. Have fun without me._

Curious, Kankri opened the fridge door. Sure enough, there was a bottle of Coke and a ham sandwich waiting for him there in the fridge. Kankri gave a small, grateful smile, pulling his lunch out of the fridge and closing the door. It wasn't his favourite kind, but he could at least appreciate that Karkat had been considerate enough to think of him.

"Sollux's again, eh," Kankri mumbled softly, crumpling up the note and tossing it away. Of course he'd run straight off to Sollux's house, though. Karkat not only hated being here while it was so quiet, but he seemed to adore being at the Captors'.

Karkat used to spend a lot of time at the Amporas' house as well, but that stopped somewhere between their eighth and ninth grade - three years ago. Kankri wondered vaguely what had happened there, but if Cronus' behavior was any indication, maybe the rest of the Amporas were just as distasteful.

No doubt Karkat had taken an overnight bag to stay the night at Sollux's, as well, the more Kankri thought about it. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and took a deep breath through his nose.

It really was too quiet here. Kankri turned on the radio to banish the silence.

There was no point in moping, however. Kankri finished his lunch and tidied up the kitchen as always, a ritual habit he'd grown used to doing now that he was mostly alone – a little cleaning went a long way, once again, when no one was home. The motions of vacuuming, scrubbing, and dusting helped keep his mind calm and steady, blank even, away from anything that might be otherwise occupying him.

Kankri was halfway through his housework – – when he heard the phone ring. The noise at first made him jump – it'd pulled him viciously from his trance and back into the real world. He wasn't used to the sound and it'd shaken him. With a trembling hand he picked up the receiver, feeling a mix of apprehension (no one ever calls here...) with excitement (no one _ever_ calls here!). He cleared his throat to make sure his voice didn't shake.

“Hello?” He asked curiously. On the other end of the phone came a soft, high voice that only ever put Kankri in mind of Betty Boop and other wily, cartoonish femmes.

“Afternoon, Kankri.” Aranea Serket. “Is Father Vantas there?”

 _Oh._ Of course Aranea would be looking for his father. She was head of the church's youth group, the bible study group, and a volunteer events aid. No doubt she wanted to talk about something church-related with his father, maybe run over some programs or talk about events coming up. Kankri couldn't help but feel his shoulders slump in dismay. _Of course no one would be calling for you._

“Ah, no, I'm sorry.” Kankri didn't let his disappointment filter into his voice. “Father's gone to visit family for the night. I cna get a message to him, if you like.”

Always some lie or another. _Father's gone to the store. Father's gone to the town over to help the church there. Father's ill._ Heaven forbid someone see through it.

Aranea's voice was filled with disappointment and he could almost hear the frown on her face. “No, thank you.” She said. “I won't bother him if he's busy. But if you aren't too terribly occupied--”

Ah, there it was. The second choice.

“--You wouldn't mind stopping by the church? I have some final plans to run by you and your father for the Fourth of July barbecue and -oh, your grandmother's here, Kankri, and she's being terribly stubborn as usual.”

Kankri had to bite back a chuckle. Of course Rosa Maryam was being stubborn. “Very well,” He said. “I'll be down in just a little while. Though I don't fancy having to discuss an occasion where we all get together to exercise our gluttony like pigs on red meat.”

“How did I know you'd interject your opinion?” Aranea sighed. “Honestly, some red meat might do you some good every once in a while, strengthen your resolve.”

“My resolve is strong enough, thank you,” Kankri said indignantly, wrinkling his nose.

“Of course it is.” Another sigh. “Mother's brought us all something to eat, since I plan on staying here and arranging the summer schedule for the evening. Do stay and help out, won't you? I could certainly use your timekeeping skills.”

Kankri raised a brow – not at her offer, but at the thought of Marquise Serket – and yes, she'd say, that was her actual name (thank you very much). She was well-known about the town for the exact opposite reason as his father and as such, they'd never gotten along. Father always said it was some kind of miracle that Aranea turned out to be such a good child. “I find it hard to believe that you convinced your mother to set foot inside a church, much less cook for its inhabitants,” Kankri said drily. “No offense.”

Aranea laughed. “None taken. Believe me, it took more bribing than I may be able to afford.”

“Now that, I can believe.”

They said their goodbyes shortly after, with Kankri agreeing to drop by as soon as he could. He hung up the phone and with a soft sigh, opened the fridge, hanging off the door handle like a child. He'd certainly be told off if anyone saw him. There was really no reason to take anything out for dinner if he was going to be the only one eating it, in his mind – the time spent cooking would be a waste. Maybe taking Aranea up on her offer wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Kankri felt something akin to relief that she'd called him, given him a reason to leave the house and occupy himself. The promise of free food wasn't so bad, either.

He shut off the radio, tugging on his shoes and heading out the door.

  


Porrim was there when Kankri arrived. A moment of confusion crossed Kankri's mind until he remembered that Rosa was there as well. Being Kankri's adoptive grandmother meant that in a sort of way he and Porrim were related, somehow, but he didn't like to dwell on that. He certainly didn't like to remind her, either, considering that they were almost the same age and she was legally his aunt.

The retired social worker herself was currently running after a gaggle of children who were squealing and chasing her scarf. Rosa always volunteered here to oversee the children's song groups and church clubs in her spare time, and spent much of the rest of her time helping to organize functions as the leader of the volunteer events aid – the same one Aranea was a part of. From what Kankri understood, they frequently butted heads over it – just as they seemed to be doing now.

“There aren't enough funds for the shelter, and you know it, Miss Maryam--” Aranea's annoyed tone cut over the screaming children. Kankri may have been able to talk at length but he couldn't hold a candle to her ability to talk over others. “Even with a fundraiser – even with a dozen fundraisers – the church roof still needs mending, and we need to begin planning for the barbecue!”

“Heaven forbid the populus be denied the chance to gorge themselves.” Rosa chided, picking up one of the smaller ones. Kankri couldn't hold back a smile. “Really, now, Aranea.”

“But it's tradition--”

“You would prioritize fireworks and barbecue over children who are without a home or proper guidance?” Rosa raised an eyebrow and even Kankri, who was used to dealing with the stern side of her, had to back off a little. “You would deny them the help they need?”

Aranea seemed at a loss for words when she spotted Kankri, who was lingering by Porrim. She sighed in relief, marching over and tugging him by the hand towards the center of the argument – a place Kankri found he really didn't want to be. Kankri wrinkled his nose; he had to resist the urge to recoil and pull away from her grip, tell her not to touch him.

“Kankri, thank goodness,” She said, seeming to take no notice of the purple bruise on Kankri's jaw. “There you are. Please, talk some sense into this woman. We simply can't shut down an entire town celebration, and even if we did, we still wouldn't have money enough to keep her children's shelter running!”

Kankri looked at his grandmother, who in turn looked down her nose at him. Her eyes flicked to the bruise and she frowned deeper than normal, worry creasing her face, but she said nothing about it. He didn't really know what Aranea expected of him. Rosa was an imperious woman and he would never in his right mind go against her – not that she'd ever given him a reason to. He doubted he'd ever have the courage to, even if he had said reason.

Nevertheless, he'd see what he could do. “How much do we have in funds for the roof?” He asked, looking towards Aranea.

“Two hundred dollars.” She said, looking down at her notes. She frowned, tucking a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear. “And seventy-five for the barbecue.”

Kankri turned to his grandmother. “And how much do you need for the shelter?”

Rosa glanced away. Kankri didn't miss the way she bit her lip, avoiding his eyes. His heart sunk. “Two thousand dollars.” She said, and Aranea gave a noise of justification. “...Give or take.”

Yikes.

“....I....think that something a little bigger than just a town charity drive would be needed to raise that kind of money.” He said slowly. Rosa's expression remained the same; hopeful, yet stern. After all, it wasn't a no from him. Not yet.

“What sort of affair would be simple enough to put off and possible earn us that kind of money?” Aranea asked, clearly doubtful. “Every event that I could think of would cost a great deal of money to put off – so much so that any money we made wouldn't even begin to balance out, much less make a profit!”

Kankri frowned to himself, then sighed. Aranea was right, everything big wouldn't even begin to make a profit in this town and everything small wouldn't churn out enough money. Maybe... Kankri wrinkled his nose in thought. Maybe a potluck, or dances, or some sort of draw...

“Give me some time to think on it.” He said. Aranea sighed and shook her head and Rosa gave a gentle hint of a smile showing her approval. His mind was already whirring. “Maybe I should head home, give my father a call--”

The smile vanished.

“Oh, but won't you stay for dinner?” Aranea pouted slightly. She reached out for Kankri's arm again and he flinched away. Aranea frowned, confused. “.....Mother made us some wonderful finger foods to have for dinner. I know she doesn't look it, but she's an excellent cook, really.”

Kankri looked between his grandmother and Aranea. Rosa nodded subtly. He hadn't really planned on having dinner, in all honesty. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have something to eat before he went back to his house. A quiet, empty house...

A small sigh left Kankri. He nodded. “Alright.” He said. “I'll stay for dinner, at least. But then I have to head home and finish my work.”

Aranea nodded and smiled brightly. She flounced to a nearby table and started unwrapping plates of cucumber sandwiches and potato salad. “Oh, alright.” She said, unpacking a bag of paper plates and plastic forks. “Promise me you'll talk to you father tonight?”

“Of course.” Kankri nodded. “I'll talk to Father as soon as I get home.”

Kankri couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a look of disgust cross his grandmother's face at the mention of her adoptive son. He couldn't double-check, however, because Aranea was dragging him to the table to help plate the food before he could get another word in edgewise. 

"By the way," She said, tying her hair back into a high ponytail. "What happened to your face, if you don't mind me asking?"

 

* * *

 

“ _Is Father there?”_

“ _I'm sorry, who?”_

“ _Ah....right. Is Elson Vantas there, please?”_

“ _No, I'm sorry. You just missed him. He went home.”_

“ _Home? But...nevermind. Thank you, have a good night.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, AN UPDATE


End file.
